


The cut on your cheek

by Midnight_Sunrise_63



Series: Kiyoomi fucked up [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Another TW mentions of blood, Atsumu tried his best, I didn't know if I should label it as "Graphic depictions of violence" so I just decided not to, Kiyoomi fucked up, Kiyoomi gets drunk, M/M, Osamu really cares, Osamuu is best brother, Possible Divorce, Trigger warning: a but of drunk domestic violence, it's not just a mention it's actually like a bit detailed, just stay safe while reading please!, unanswered questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 09:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Sunrise_63/pseuds/Midnight_Sunrise_63
Summary: Omi-Omi, you’ll understand why this is here once you’ve remembered what happened last night. I’m staying with Samu for a while, and until you realize how fucked up you were acting, you can come talk to me.But I just want to know, Omi. Why didn’t you speak to me? What was so important and bothering you so much that you couldn’t even talk to your own husband? Am I seriously that terrible?I love you, but I just want a break.-Atsumu
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Kiyoomi fucked up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2220141
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	The cut on your cheek

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this, but I was just in the mood for some angst, even tho I'm working on a huge angst project at the moment. Yes yes, I know. A lot of you are waiting for the next part of my Akaashi's missing series, but that will come later. After I finish this one story, I will get to work on the Akaashi's missing series. I have started the second part already, it just needs to be finished and finalized, so please be patient with me! I love you all, and also, this has trigger warnings for drunken violence, so please stay safe while reading. Have fun, children!

Atsumu adored Kiyoomi with more than his entire being. He worshipped the ground Kiyoomi walked on, and catered to his every need without a single complaint. He thought everything was perfect in their marriage. Both respected the other, and everything in the house was made fair for each. Kiyoomi was the worker in the family while Atsumu tidied up the house and prepared dinner, just normal household chores.

Every so often, Kiyoomi would go out drinking with his friends, and Atsumu was happy that he was able to get out in public so easily nowadays, so he never discouraged it. It was nice to see him go out and socialize, and Atsumu loved his husband, so why would he stop him?

But this particular night, something was clearly bothering Kiyoomi and he absolutely refused to speak about it to Atsumu. So as his form of coping, he left the apartment, sat around in a bar for three hours, and came back home drunker than a cheater at a Friday night’s party.

Atsumu opened the front door, immediately allowing Kiyoomi to enter. “Go sit, Omi-Omi. I can get ya some water,” Atsumu cooed as he removed Kiyoomi’s coat, planting a soft kiss on his black curls before stepping aside. 

He just grumbled, aggressively ripping his shoes off and tossing them in whichever direction was most convenient, which showed to be Atsumu’s legs. They smacked into his thighs, and the victim sighed.  _ It’s whatever, he’s drunk, so I just have to take care of him… like always.  _ He frowned at his brain, then shook his head and replaced the downwards quirk with a bright smile. 

“Did ya have fun, Omi?” he tried to pick up a conversation, but all Kiyoomi did was wave him off and collapse onto the couch.

“Get me a drink from the fridge,” he snapped, his words a little slurred but still recognizable. 

“Oh, alright, Omi,” he agreed, and walked into the kitchen, placing the jacket over the counter and grabbing a glass of water, as well as a beer can from the bottom drawer of the fridge. 

When he returned to the living room, Kiyoomi was agitated and snatched the beer can, leaving the water glass untouched. 

Atsumu sat beside him, wrapping his arm around the broad shoulder of his husband, rubbing circles onto his skin. “Come on, Omi, drink some water too. Or else yer hangover is gonna be hell.” 

Kiyoomi slammed the now-empty beer can onto the side table, and glared at Atsumu, who jerked back an inch and slowly retracted his arm. “Are you always so annoying, pisshead?” he growled, and Atsumu shifted his gaze to his fingernails.

_ He probably doesn’t recognize me, he’s so drunk. _ He chuckled bitterly, then stood from the couch. “Sorry, I’ll just go to bed, Omi. Don’t stay up too late.” He patted Kiyoomi’s shoulder, and started for their bedroom. He suddenly turned around, an idea in his brain. “Hey, before I go, I remember there being somethin’ on yer mind, and that’s why ya went to drink. Do ya want to talk about it now, Omi?”

“No. Get me another,” was the only response Atsumu got. He obeyed his husband, going yet again to the kitchen and returning. But, he stayed. 

“Please, Omi-Omi. I wanna know what’s botherin’ ya,” he smiled kindly, and Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed, his face darkening. If Atsumu was being honest, he was a little scared. He had never seen Kiyoomi this way, not even when he was drunk out of his mind.

But apparently something was different tonight.

“You have no reason to know what’s wrong, you disgusting pig. Get the fuck out of my face before I make you,” he cracked the can open, and Atsumu flinched.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough,” he spoke sternly, and discarded his accent to make his point clear. But even with this brave facade, he was terrified. “If you drank so much that you can’t recognize your own husband, then you’ve had  _ far _ too much, Kiyoomi.”

“You’re not my fucking husband, stop being a liar,” he glowered, and there was no remorse in those dark, obisdian eyes.

“Kiyoomi, stop screwing around and give me the can,” Atsumu forced himself to wobbly legs, keeping them strong as he held out his hand expectantly.

“No!” He first gently smacked the hand away and took another swig, but when Atsumu didn’t falter, he hit it again, but this time with more force. “Get the hell out of my face, pisshead!”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” Atsumu yelled, his patience gone but fear through the roof. “Give me the can, right now!” A cluster of tears pricked both eyes as Kiyoomi shoved himself up onto his drunken feet, and he towered over the shaking man. The beer can collided with the carpet with a muffled clank, then something struck Atsumu across the face.

The apartment went quiet, then Kiyoomi bent down, picking up the can before he stomped a few steps away and blacked out over the floor. He fell with a loud thud, then his raspy breathing was covered up by Atsumu’s soft sniffles. 

Something that sounded like raindrops dripped onto the carpet, and that was when Atsumu reached up to feel his burning cheek. Underneath that stinging sensation, there was something caressing his face. It littered his fingertips, and when he examined them, they weren’t tears.

He rushed to the bathroom, more drops crawling off his jawline to the wooden flooring. In the mirror, Atsumu saw his face, but could only focus on one thing.

The cut on his cheek. 

It was slathered with blood, and the tears from his tired eyes spread the thick, sticky, red liquid down to his shirt and beyond. His twitching hands reached down to his shorts, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons before he held it to his ear.

The phone rang for a few moments, then was picked up. “Tsumu? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Osamu yawned on his line, then froze. “Hey, Tsumu? Is that crying? Are you crying?!”

“S-S-Samu… I need a place to st-stay,” he mumbled, still staring at the slice.

“Why? What happened? Tsumu, are you okay?!” he demanded, but Atsumu only exhaled a broken sob.

“He hit me, Samu! He got drunk a-a-and he didn’t recognize me-me, and when I tri-tried to ta-take the drink, he hi-hit me!” he wailed, sinking down to the tile of the bathroom, curling into a broken ball on the floor.

Osamu’s line went dead silent, then some stomps were heard and the slam of a door. “Stay there, Tsumu. I’m coming to pick you up. Where is he?”

“Pas-passed out,” he answered, his legs now tainted with streaks of his own blood. 

“That bastard,” Osamu grumbled, and someone else’s voice spoke in the background. “I’m going to pick Tsumu up, I’ll be back soon,” he replied to the person, then the engine of a car revved up. “Hang tight, Tsumu. I’m coming. Stay away from him, and if he wakes up, lock yourself in the bathroom if you have to and I’ll deal with it when I get there.”

“Ok-okay,” he whispered hoarsely, and the call ended. Atsumu slid the door to the bathroom shut, muttering positive words to himself as he hugged his knees to his chest. His shoulders shuddered as his lungs tried to steady his inhales, but all that caused was large, heaving breaths that racked Atsumu’s entire body, adding onto his sobs.

But other than that, the apartment was quiet. Kiyoomi was still passed out in the living room, and Atsumu for once was glad for that. He couldn’t face Kiyoomi, may it even be sober Kiyoomi in the morning. He didn’t want to see the face of his husband, who glared at him with such hatred and yelled at him with terrible words. With all of these thoughts culminating in Atsumu’s mind, he became so overwhelmed that he stopped crying from the pain, and instead began shedding tears for what this could change in their relationship. He knew Kiyoomi was drunk, but the fact that he refused to talk about something and decided to drink instead, on top of the very rude and vulgar attitude and the raised hand against his own husband, it was all one large, emotional rollercoaster and all Atsumu wanted to do was leap off onto safe land.

He grounded himself, steadying his legs as he exited the bathroom. He found a sheet of paper, as well as a pencil, then he began to write. He placed the note on the kitchen table, and sniffled a few times as he proceeded to do one more thing. The doorbell rang just as Atsumu finished up with the note for Kiyoomi, and he lumbered to answer it.

Osamu immediately took him up into his arms, hugging his brother tightly, like he never wanted to let go. “Come on, Tsumu. Let’s get you home, and I’ll bandage you… up…” he trailed off at the mere sight of the slice, and his eyes filled with fury for a brief moment, before returning to tranquil. He knew he could not be angry in front of Atsumu right now. “Let me help you pack?”

“Mh-h-hm,” he hummed, his heart broken and soul shattered. 

Osamu started into the apartment, and his breath only slightly hitched when he noticed the paper on the table, but he did not mention it. He reached his brother’s room, and searched for a duffle bag from the closet. He found one, his old high school gym duffle, and smiled at the fond memories he received as he gazed upon the nostalgic item. He then shook it away, he was not to reminisce, he was there to help Atsumu. He stuffed two week’s worth of clothes in there, as well as his toothbrush and other toiletries, then came back to see Atsumu stroking Kiyoomi’s hair and whispering in his ear.

He caught little snippets such as, “It’s not your fault,” and “I’ll see you soon, I just need a break.” 

He clenched his jaw, then called for his brother. “Come on, Tsumu. You need a bandage.”

“Yeah, okay,” he placed one single kiss over both of Kiyoomi’s sleeping eyelids, then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m ready to go home.”

Kiyoomi awoke that morning with a killer headache, and the first thing he noticed was that there was no sleeping blonde beside him. He jolted up, then his hand landed on something crunchy underneath his palm. He reeked of alcohol, but that seemed to be the least of his problems. When he shifted to see what he had touched, his heart dropped into his stomach, turning the taste in the back of his throat sour. 

“Blood? Why is there blood?” he muttered, then jerked his head up. “Tsumu? Tsumu, where- ah!” His head sent a sharp pain down his entire body, and he went to clutch his temples when he found some more blood leading to the bathroom. He decided to follow it, and was greeted with more blood on the tile. “What the hell?! TSUMU!” 

He raced back out, frantically searching the entire apartment, but found no trace of the blonde. He entered the dining room, and that was when he finally found the note.

_ Omi-Omi, you’ll understand why this is here once you’ve remembered what happened last night. I’m staying with Samu for a while, and until you realize how fucked up you were acting, you can come talk to me. _

_ But I just want to know, Omi. Why didn’t you speak to me? What was so important and bothering you so much that you couldn’t even talk to your own husband? Am I seriously that terrible? _

_ I love you, but I just want a break. _

_ -Atsumu _

Atop the note was an object that Kiyoomi never wanted to see unless it was on Atsumu’s finger. 

His wedding ring. 

“What did I do..?” he reached his hand up to kiss his own ring out of a form of prayer, then noticed the splatters of blood on his finger, as well as the diamond of the ring. “No, oh no…” he stepped back, slamming into the wall as he initiated his frantic rambling. “No no no, did I hit him?! Did I get so drunk that I… hit my own husband..?”

He whipped his phone out, only to see it dead. “FUCK!” he barked, smacking it into the table and sinking to his feet, teetering back and forth as he held onto the table edge for support. 

A memory flashed through his head, and he curled his fingers on the table.

_ “No!” Kiyoomi hit the hand away, sneering and holding onto the can, and when Atsumu reached for it again, he hit it away once more, but harsher this time. “Get the hell out of my face, pisshead!” _

_ “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” the blonde yelled. “Give me the can, right now!” Then Kiyoomi tossed the beer can to the side, stood, and back-hand slapped him across the face, his ring cutting the skin of his cheek open. _

_ Then everything went black, and Kiyoomi remembered nothing else. _

“Oh god,” he breathed, falling onto his ass and feeling tears prick his eyes, eventually travelling down his heated cheeks. “No, god please, no! I fucked up! And all because of something so fucking stupid!”

He slammed his fist against the hardwood, and he cried his heart out, for more than one reason.

One: He got drunk instead of just talking to Atsumu about his concerns.

Two: He raised a hand against the man he loved.

Three: He didn’t even know if he’d ever see Atsumu again, since Osamu was a literal devil when it came to protecting his brother.

And finally, number four… All Kiyoomi was worrying about was a simple question he had been wanting to ask Atsumu for a few weeks. 

But that question will remain unasked, therefore unanswered, and the ring on the table could have proved that it will never be answered until Kiyoomi can find some miracle to fix all of this. It was too late now, nothing would ever be the same as yesterday, and Kiyoomi was terrified for his tomorrow. He wanted Atsumu by his side, but clearly that wouldn’t happen any time soon. 

“I’m so fucking stupid!” he sobbed. “How am I going to fix this?!”

He thought back to the question, and his heart just shattered even more.

_ “Atsumu, when do you think we will adopt a child?” _

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been drunk before, seeing as tho I'm a minor (-.-'), so I have hardly any idea of how real drunken people act and remember things from the time they were drinking. However, I tried my best to kinda like "copy" what other people were writing when it came to drunken antics and remembrance in the morning. It wasn't really copying, so to say, all of their work is their work and I claim none of it, it's just I tried to recreate their... uhh... ideas of how drunk people are??? I don't know, I'm rambling now. It's like 10 pm here and I have a project due tomorrow which was actually due Friday so I'm swamped with school shit. Anyways, have a great day!


End file.
